


Regal

by olivemeister



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/M, Reflects canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 20:18:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olivemeister/pseuds/olivemeister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Princess Carolina had always held herself to certain standards.</p>
<p>"It would make me very happy."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regal

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [sharkboyfriend's](http://sharkboyfriend.tumblr.com/) [ RvB AU ](http://sharkboyfriend.tumblr.com/tagged/rvb_au) that I ran hog wild with. I am very sorry. I wrote something sad.  
> (Can also be found on my tumblr since I originally posted it there and only decided to post it here later on.)

Princess Carolina had always held herself to certain standards.

_Show no weakness. You are iron-clad. Your strength is like a hammer, your grace a sword. You must be all that your father is not - locked away in his tower, listening to the words whispered in his ears._

Carolina knew her mother was dead and that there was nothing that could be done to change this, no matter what the sorcerer claimed. He was a fraud, but her father was a fool. Brilliant, to be sure, but a fool all the same. He had to know he was lying to himself, trying to bring back what was gone.

She could not allow herself to show that weakness. She could not allow anyone to affect her that way - to follow her father’s stumbling footsteps. Footsteps that had lead him to abandon his realm to chase a ghost. He swore that he could hear her sometimes, could see her out of the corner of his eye. Carolina had written him off. Let the old man hide in his dungeons. He could sacrifice as many chickens and goats as he wanted, as long as he never touched her people. 

They  _were_  her people. Not his, not anymore. A king in name only. It was clear to everyone that Princess Carolina was their queen.

She did her best, in her own stubborn way. The kingdom was stable in its own way. Thriving might be too strong a word, but stable… yes, that was fitting.

She wouldn’t describe herself as a good ruler, though her people would have disagreed. Carolina always knew she could be better. 

Before her mother died, Carolina’s life had been struggling against what was expected of her. Engagement to a prince she didn’t know, being shipped off to a foreign kingdom to bear new princes and princesses that would rule a throne she’d never sit. Leonard would take the throne, would take their father’s sword, the arrogant, miserable brat of a brother he was. It was incredible how someone who despised himself so much could have such an ego.

She wished she could hear his voice, though. It would have been nice to have someone by her side. But Leonard II had been lost that night, barely five years old. Carolina barely remembered the attack; she’d been just as young. Queen Allison had lead them - the strength behind her king’s brilliance. They’d recovered the bodies when the fires had been put out, but three things had been lost at that moment. A queen’s life, her husband’s mind, and her son.

The tiny body they’d found didn’t look like Leonard. But then, so ravaged by flame, how could it have looked like him?

When Carolina thought back to her brother, she couldn’t remember his face. But she did remember the body she’d seen that night, and that was what filled her memories of Leonard. 

She didn’t like to reminisce. 

Perhaps, if Leonard were here, though, things wouldn’t have been this way. An heir to the kingdom who could take the throne, unlike her. But Carolina would never be her kingdom’s ruler. If she took a husband, it would have to be the prince of some other nation, looking to join their kingdoms. And he would take from her the people who she protected.

And that, Carolina vowed, would never happen.

* * *

 

Then, there was the matter of York. York, who was everything that she had tried to refuse to even hope for. Who was kind and strong, who supported her and understood even when he didn’t agree. York, the member of the Kingsguard. The nobleman’s son. 

York, who everyone knew was in love with her. Her knight, whose armor didn’t shine only because he had more things to do than polish it to a gleam. York, who made her happy.

She hated what he brought out in her. Carolina hated how he drew the person from the ruler she strove to be. 

York’s family had pushed heavily for them to be betrothed. What an opportunity it was! The chance to climb the rungs of the social ladder. “Our son will be King,” they surely thought, submitting the proposal countless times without realizing that King Leonard the First never saw them.

No, it was Carolina - Princess Carolina, whose people called her Queen and whose nobles had their noses pointed too far upward to see the truth. Leonard the First was as good as dead for all he did for his people. 

So it was Carolina who rejected each proposal. It stung to see York’s smiling face after each rejection had been sent out, but he never blamed her. After all, he hadn’t penned the suggestions. He’d begged his parents to give it up, after all. Princess Carolina had more important things to do than constantly deal with a squabbling family. York knew that. York understood that. York made her happy.

He had told her, one night, after all. “I know very little, especially compared with you, my lady. But I know these things; I know that I love you, and I know that I will follow you no matter your response. I know that I will support you in all things, and that if you so choose to place within me your trust, I will never betray it. It matters not if you love me. I expect nothing from you. Being here is enough to bring me happiness.”

Carolina had sent him away, knowing that despite her stubbornness, despite how she had forbidden herself, she did love York. And among the things that York knew, that fact surely reigned supreme. She’d cried that night; about how obstinate she was, how she couldn’t allow this weakness. In her obsession, she was the only one who saw it that way.  _Show no weakness. You are fire and steel; a ruler, not a woman. This part of you cannot be. Your joy and sorrow can never be more important than your kingdom._

* * *

 

The proposals stopped. Princess Carolina did her duties. Sir York remained by her side. The peasants sighed, and whispered, “They could be so happy, if only she’d let herself have that bit of joy.”

It could have continued that way - both knowing, without saying a word. Carolina never said, “I love you.” She said things like “It would make me very happy if,” or “I would enjoy,” when she sought his presence, when she needed things of him. Never anything more than a quiet conversation. 

* * *

 

When the riders came with their news, the person behind the mask clutched it like a shield. And slowly, the shield began to crack. She sat by his bed through that night, even as he slept peacefully. The rise and fall of his chest was reassuring, after all. It meant he was alive. 

Behind the silk bandages, his left eye had been destroyed. Carolina hadn’t seen the wound, but the torn tissue stretched down his cheek and across the bridge of his nose. The inflamed skin reached even further, and his face was swollen and bruised. The physicians assured her that it was not necessarily a fatal wound, though it would be crippling. 

Out of every knight in the kingdom, York was perhaps the only one who cared so much, enough to take a blow aimed at a peasant who had been entangled in a brawl. Of course he hadn’t been wearing his helmet. Fate would only be so cruel, to punish the only man who loved her subjects the way she did.

But the next morning he had woken, groggy and in pain, but alive. And Princess Carolina made her decision. At first, York was sure he was delirious. Surely, the words he had heard were hopeful wishes. But they repeated, and suddenly York didn’t care that half of his face was a throbbing mess, that he could barely see, that he was most certainly permanently disfigured. Because Carolina, headstrong, brave, burning with righteousness Carolina, said again, “Marry me, York.”

And though it hurt to smile, he did, and whispered, “Is that an order, m’lady?” with such a mischievousness in his voice that she quite nearly struck him, but instead said, “It would make me very happy.”

York’s smile softened at the words, and he could only reply with, “I do believe it would make me even happier.”

Their first kiss was a mess of tears and bandages, swollen flesh and awkward movements, but at that moment, nothing could have brought them more joy.

* * *

 

The injury was ugly, the physicians maintained to her, but he could pull through. The wedding would take place as soon as he was well enough, and in the wake of the announcement, the city was loud and bright with celebration. 

In a local inn and tavern known as the Bloodgulch, Leo Flowers smiled. Princess Carolina deserved to be happy, he knew, though he wasn’t sure how he was so convinced of the fact. And he was just as unsure as to why he felt so happy himself, going so far as to offer a quiet thought of thanks to whoever was listening. But surely the gods weren’t listening to the prayer of a peasant boy -  _"Give her this, if nothing else."_

* * *

 

Maybe they were listening after all. Maybe they were cruel.

* * *

 

The day York told her the truth was the worst day of Carolina’s life. 

* * *

 

York had held her hand tightly, even as he lay flushed with fever. “They didn’t want to tell you until they were sure,” he whispered. “They didn’t want to trouble you so, with possibilities.”

The flesh on his face was streaked with dark veins, the air heavy with the smell of death. It had been mere days since he had taken the injury, and it would be precious few more before he breathed his last.

"They say," he said, very slowly, as if it was hard for him to piece the words together, "That the sickness is likely to reach my brain before long."

"Don’t." Carolina’s words were clipped, as if she could keep the sorrow from her voice. "You can’t. I’ve only just…"

The woman who hid behind the role of Queen had lost her mask, and the tears spilled. 

"I’ve only just begun to make you happy."

It seemed like an infinity before he spoke again. “Carolina,” he murmured - not ‘my lady,’ or ‘your grace’, but ‘Carolina,’ “You have always made me happy. But you would make me happier if you could smile for me.”

Though she tried, the only thing that came were tears.

* * *

 

York didn’t speak again, though for days he still lived. His remaining eye was unfocused and unseeing, his flesh hot to the touch. Carolina stayed by his side, as he had always been by hers. And though she wept, she tried, again and again, to smile, at least for him. 

"You would make me happier if you could smile for me."

A hand on her shoulder roused her from her sleep, and for a moment, groggy from sleep and a dream where he was alive and well, she thought it was York. But the worried face of the doctor brought her back to reality, and she achingly prepared herself for the worst, even as she fixed her eyes on York.

"Is he…?"

"No, my lady. He still lives. But…"

"It will be soon, then." Not a question, but she was given an answer nonetheless.

"Yes, my lady. I… will leave you. To say what you will."

Alone in the chamber, she found York’s hand. There was no strength in it, no strong fingers to wrap around hers. No soft words for her to hear. 

For a moment, her eyes met his, and she knew. This would be the last time that York would see her. The last chance she had, before everything ended. 

Before her heart grew cold as stone alongside his body, Carolina smiled for him.

When York died, he was happy.

* * *

 

Princess Carolina never married.


End file.
